


The Big Night

by Shalebridge_Cradle



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: F/F, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-04-25 19:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14385645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shalebridge_Cradle/pseuds/Shalebridge_Cradle
Summary: Dear Diary, it's that time of the month again.





	1. First Night

**Author's Note:**

> An anonymous user on my Tumblr suggested that I post some of the oneshots I'd written to Ao3. I already did that with Crash, Bang, so I figured I could post some of the ones I'm reasonably happy with.  
> This is one of them.  
> Warning: One reference to non-consensual touching.

Veronica leans the back of her head on the wall, sighing. Bored, bored, bored.

Chandler had told her not to start writing in her diary, that picking her outfit would only take a few minutes at most. Well, it’s been ten, and if Heather wasn’t going to uphold her end of the deal, why should she?

She takes out the book out of her backpack and clicks her pen, starting with the date, drawing a little circle next to it.

_Dear Diary, it’s that time of the month again._

She doesn’t get much time to stew in her pun-induced self-loathing once she hears the handle turn. A hand, holding three filled coat hangers, shoots out from behind the door.

Dropping her diary in her haste to get up, Veronica takes the prepared outfits carefully, checking them over. Red, yellow, green. Everything seems in order.

“Go put them in the trunk while we get changed,” the arm’s owner says, and Veronica works out it’s Duke speaking, “ _carefully_. Heather’s gonna tear you apart if any of us show up tomorrow all creased.”

“The big sunglasses and the Red Bull/Coffee combos won’t raise any eyebrows, I’m sure.”

“That’s different,” Duke growls. “That just means we’ve been partying. I’m trusting you with my baby, Veronica, don’t push your luck.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The door shuts, and that’s when Veronica remembers. She knocks.

“You didn’t give me your keys!”

The door opens again, and the keys to Duke’s Jeep hit Veronica square in the face.

 

-

 

She didn’t really mean to find out. Maybe. She isn’t sure, now that she thinks about it.

Even after Chandler inducted her into their little posse, it was more like the Heathers were work colleagues than friends. They weren’t cruel - not to her, at least - but there was an air of exclusion the Veronica just barely noticed.

Was it because of her love of books? Possible, but Duke read all the time. Because she was nice? Maybe, but McNamara at least pretended to be a decent human being. There was a reason she was treated as an outsider, and she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

Veronica decided she’d make an unannounced visit to Chandler’s place, just one, before she would write it off as paranoia. Or maybe an inferiority complex. Both, she’d go with both.

So, in her curiosity, she went up the two flights of stairs (and had to reorient herself each time), she trudged down the hallway to Heather’s bedroom (regretting her decision with every step), pushed down the door handle (all the others were round, why was this one a lever?) and pushed the door open.

Three sets of orange eyes stared back at her.

Veronica closed the door, screamed at the floor for about five seconds, then opened it again.

“Okay, let me get my last words out before I become a pile of miscellaneous body parts. I know it’s you, your fur’s the same color as your hair. Yellow,” Veronica points to the wolf near the window, “black,” the wolf by the TV, “orange,” the wolf on the bed, “Heather, Heather, Heather. I get why you didn’t tell me, but here’s the thing, you were at _no risk_ if you did. One, no-one will believe me if I say something, and two, _you could kill me if I do_. Instead, you acted all secretive, and look how that worked out. Now everyone’s embarrassed.”

Duke briefly tilted her head in the universal gesture of ‘fair enough’. No pack takedown came, so Veronica slowly started backing out again.

“I’m going home. You better believe that once you regain the power of speech, you have some explaining to do.”

Chandler went ‘boof’ and McNamara flattened her ears as Veronica shut the door for the final time that night.

 

She was called into an impromptu conference in the girls’ bathroom the Heathers had claimed as their own on Tuesday. Admittedly, the territorial bullshit these girls engaged in made a whole lot more sense now.

“Full disclosure,” Chandler began, “we took a vote on whether or not to kill you.”

Veronica nodded sagely. “The nays have it, I hope. 2-1?”

“3-0,” McNamara corrected with no small amount of concern.

“We have use for you. As I’m sure you can imagine, none of us can operate a vehicle when we’re… like that. As great as my bedroom is, it gets boring.”

“You want me to drive you places.” Veronica briefly entertained the thought of taking three wolves through the McDonald’s drive-through, and had to stifle a laugh at the image.

Duke shook her head. “Drive us _one_ place, and you’re not touching my car until next month.”

“Is that why you own a Jeep?”

“…No.”

“Any questions?” Chandler interrupted.

“Oh yes, many.” Veronica opened a notebook. She hid it well, but Chandler balked. “Why are you like this? Did you get bit? Is it a Heather thing?”

“Got cursed by some goth kid for being a bitch to ‘em.” Duke answered. Veronica wasn’t surprised to find they had learned nothing from it.

McNamara nodded. “We didn’t find out it was for real until later. That was _awkward_.”

The bell rang, and the four of them jumped at the sound.

As expected, Chandler recovered the fastest. “You’ll get to ask another one if you carry my books to class.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, but they both knew she was going to. The promise of knowing, of being included at last, was too good for her to pass up.

 

-

 

It’s actually a nice night. A little chilly, sure, but the stars are out and Veronica’s far enough away from any street light for them to glitter like tiny diamonds.

The Heathers’ hand-chosen location is a field on the edge of town. No cows, No animals at all – just an open field next to a smattering of trees. Perfect for running around in.

As soon as Veronica opens the door, McNamara is off like a shot, gone from sight before Veronica can register what just happened. Duke gives a huff, and follows her.

Chandler waits, and Veronica thinks at first it’s simply out of practicality (she’s in the front seat, after all, and even _she_ won’t get off easy if she breaks Duke’s window). But, no. The door opens, the Big Red Wolf hops out, and Heather stares at Veronica expectantly.

“…What?”

No response. Not like Chandler can really yell at her like this, but even a growl or something would give Veronica some sort of indication of what she’s thinking. Slowly, looking over her shoulder for some sign of reproach every few seconds, Veronica gets the Heathers’ prepared outfits, lays them in the back seat with almost ceremonial levels of care, and moves back around to sit on the edge of the opened trunk.

Chandler watches the whole time. Veronica doesn’t really want to call her out on it, not when she can literally rip Veronica’s throat out.

Well, Veronica hasn’t been eaten yet, and potentially messing with Chandler’s clothes was the most likely trigger for her untimely death. She’s probably in the clear. Veronica fishes around in her backpack for her appropriately-colored blanket and her diary.

Blanket, super easy to find and smooth down.

Diary…

“Ah, shit.”

Chandler’s ears prick up.

“No, no, it’s nothing,” Veronica sighs, “I left my diary at your house. I’ll just take a nap, if that’s okay.”

Chandler huffed, climbing into the trunk next to Veronica. Veronica is shaken both by the sudden movement of the car and that _sleeping_ was what finally got a reaction out of the alpha bitch.

Another pun. God.

“Well, what do you want me to do? I figure you don’t want to play fetch-” Chandler growls a little - “and I’m not running after Heather and Heather if I can avoid it. Besides, I’m the driver, aren’t I? The getaway girl. I need sleep if you don’t want to die.”

Chandler is glaring at her again, the amber in her eyes making her gaze as firey as the pits of hell from whence she was spawned.

Then, with a groan, she lays her head in Veronica’s lap.

Veronica freezes for two reasons.

One, Heather is really warm. She doesn’t want to risk scratching Chandler behind the ears, no matter how soft she looks, but the weight is comforting in a way she’s sure Heather didn’t intend.

Two, she just won an argument with Heather Chandler. And yeah, she’s at a massive advantage with the ability to speak, but still. Victorious at last.

It’s these two things that help her drift off. Someone warm next to her, and a happy thought.

 

Veronica wakes to the sound of howling.

She opens her eyes, and yelps in surprise when she sees Heather McNamara barreling towards her. Chandler, evidently just waking up herself, growls at her, before directing her anger to the source of Veronica’s suffering.

McNamara cowers for just a moment, before taking off in the other direction.

Then she turns back, waiting.

Veronica’s brain takes another few seconds to kick into gear, then to register that McNamara is expecting her to follow. Groaning, she throws the blanket off of her knees (and onto Heather, who makes her displeasure known) and climbs to her feet.

“What’s wrong, girl? Did Little Timmy fall down the well?”

McNamara just stares at her, before resuming her run-two-steps-then-look-back dance.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Gimme a sec.”

By the time she reaches the edge of the field, she’s running.

 

The first thought that runs through her head is that one of them has found a dead body. Worse, one of them has found a living person and it became a dead body through their intervention.

Thankfully, it’s neither of those things. Veronica hears before she sees – a faint sniffling before she sees a girl sitting with Heather Duke. A brunette, bespectacled eyes red-rimmed, a watery smile on her face as she strokes Duke’s back.

Veronica knows this girl.

“Betty?” The girl’s head snaps up, and Veronica grins. “Betty Finn! It’s been too long!”

She hasn’t changed much from middle school – still a little dowdy in her dress sense, sure, but Veronica wasn’t much better until recently, and the fact she’s trying to smile through her tears means her personality’s probably much the same as well.

Veronica mood dips once she remembers something’s made Betty cry. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m…” Betty pauses, composing herself. “I won’t lie. I’d just gone on a date - my first real one - with Richie. He’s on the basketball team, and he’s been really handsy all night. When we got here, he started touching me all over, and I told him not to, but he…”

Veronica’s never heard of a basketball player named Richie, at Westerburg or otherwise, but she already hates him with every fiber of her being. She locks eyes with Duke – Veronica knows this is one of the things she just can’t stand. It explains her interference, at least.

“I hope you didn’t bite him,” she chides Duke, and the black wolf looks almost offended at the suggestion.

“Why? Is this your dog?” Betty asks. Veronica swallows.

“Oh, uh, sort of. I’ve been dogsitting for a little extra cash, and these guys needed a run outside.”

“Care to introduce me? I love dogs.” Betty smiles at Duke, and the black wolf practically radiates smugness, “Especially this one.”

Veronica’s mind races. _Duke, what’s a female Duke_ – “That’s Duchess.” She points to McNamara, “The gold one is… Flash, and this one is -”

Her finger finds Heather Chandler. She knows she has to be careful with what she chooses, but if she spends too long picking a name, Betty will get suspicious. Lose-lose, really.

“…Foxy.” Veronica finishes.

She’s never heard a wolf laugh before, but Duke quickly disguises it as a yawn. Chandler tenses, but doesn’t move.

“Oh, I see. Because she’s kinda orangey-red?”

“YES. THAT IS THE _ONLY_ REASON.”

“It’s a good name,” Betty agrees, bewildered. She pauses. “Um, I know it’s probably not the best time to ask, but can I go back with you? I got here in Richie’s car, and he’s probably gone by now. I’d rather not walk home alone, not out here.”

“Yeah, sure,” Veronica says without thinking, “I’m borrowing a friend’s car. I’ll drop you at your place before I take these guys home, does that work?”

McNamara whines.

“Oh, I _know_ , but you’ll have another chance later. Betty needs to go home right now, okay? There's more than one night a month for you to run around.”

McNamara flattens her ears again, but submits.

Betty smiles. “That’s good. Thanks, Ronnie.”

“Oh, no problem,” Veronica replies, but she knows it probably will be soon enough.

 

-

 

She drops Betty back at her place without further incident (Veronica sees her open her mouth to question the three perfectly pressed outfits, but Duke licks the back of Betty’s hand to distract her and saves the day once again), and the car ride back to Chandler’s place passes in a painful silence.

Veronica knows she’s dead, one way or another. For making McNamara upset, for reneging on her end of the deal, _for calling Chandler foxy_ , but she also knows so long as she’s driving, she’s safe.

Her heart is beating out of her chest as she pulls up to the Chandler mansion. She puts the Jeep in park, she pulls the handbrake, and takes the key out of the ignition.

Nothing happens.

 _Oh, right, they can’t open doors_. Veronica steps out and opens the back door, and waits for all three wolves to climb out before locking the car and heading up the driveway.

The Heathers head inside once Veronica unlocks the side door. Still no death. Maybe they’re just waiting for the right moment to strike, Veronica thinks.

“I’m gonna crash on the couch. Uh, the third floor one,” she announces, “if you’re gonna kill me, I’d rather be taken in my sleep, okay?”

She gets three very odd looks in response.

Veronica tries to put it out of her mind. A rational voice in her head tells her that they might not want to murder her at all, but this is hardly the night of rationality. She’s exhausted, her head hurts, and she’s been spending the night ferrying around three werewolves, for god’s sake.

She flops down on her bed for the night, not even bothering with her shoes, and she’s dead to the world.

If she wasn’t before, she might as well have signed the execution warrant herself for putting her dirty feet on Chandler’s couch.

 

-

 

Veronica wakes up the next morning.

Odd.

She’s relieved, of course – she was _expecting_ to die, but that doesn’t mean she _wanted_ to – but there’s a strange sensation she can’t quite place.

She needs to get up. Once she’s a little more awake, Veronica reasons, her brain will start working properly and she’ll figure it out. So, she stretches her legs (and quietly nurses the cramp that forms in her hamstring), tilts her neck from side to side, right to left–

And sees a very naked Heather Chandler resting her head on Veronica’s waist.

She tries to make her freak out as silent as possible, but clearly a whine or a squeak escapes her lips, because Chandler stirs. One eye opens to search for the source of the noise.

Then she sees it’s Veronica, and Heather grins a wolfish grin. When she speaks, her voice is low, husky, inviting.

“Foxy, huh?”

Veronica internally screams.


	2. Date Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People liked the first bit. They wanted me to continue.  
> So I did.

This is a bad idea. 

A terrible idea, really, but Veronica is in no place to question Chandler’s decision to take her out on a date for her birthday. Yeah, she’s happy that Heather remembered (though Veronica doesn’t recall telling her), and yeah, she’s also a big ol’ mess when it comes to Chandler showing affection. The warmth of her breath when she nuzzles against Veronica’s neck, the comforting weight when she’s curled up on Veronica’s lap – it makes Veronica feel like the most important person in the world.

And, hey, who’d turn down a date with Heather ‘Legs For Days’ Chandler?

Who _cares_ if it’s on a full moon?

 

-

 

“Betty! Hey, I was hoping to catch you.”

Betty, as always, looks pleasantly surprised. Veronica wonders how low her expectations must be if talking to a traitorous friend is something to look forward to.

“Oh! What’s up?”

“Well, you know the dog-sitting gig I’ve got? I’ve got a huge History assignment I need to finish, but Flash and Duchess need someone to look after them tonight, and they need a _lot_ of attention. I know you like them – can you cover for me? I’ll pass the cash on to you, promise.”

Lies, most of it. No history assignment, of course, but Chandler was very insistent about keeping Duke and McNamara away from their date, and no way is Veronica just gonna leave them out to dry. Chandler did begrudgingly offer a bribe, though, so the payment part’s true.

Betty smiles sympathetically. “It’s not fair you have to work on your birthday. But sure, I’ll help – my parents are away this week, so no problems there.”

“Great. Thanks, Betty,” Veronica sighs in relief, “I can drop them at your place around six, is that okay?”

“Sure thing!”

Betty walks off, a spring in her step, and Veronica gives Heather Duke a covert thumbs-up.

Duke frowns in response.

 

-

 

McNamara is practically vibrating with excitement as she helps Veronica choose her outfit after school. She’s cleaning out Veronica’s closet, holding up shirts and skirts to her semi-willing model before throwing them into random piles.

It’s normally Chandler who has the final say on fashion, but she’s taken a back seat this time. Maybe it’s like, bad luck – the groom can’t see the bride before she walks down the aisle, right? Presumably the same applies here.

…Maybe Veronica shouldn’t compare this to a wedding. She might be moving a bit fast.

A hat gets placed on her head, then taken off just as quickly.

“I’m thinking a black top, not sure which top, though.” McNamara babbles, “Oh, and a blue skirt, but I can’t decide between the ruffles or the pleated one. A cardigan? Maybe a cardigan, it’s getting colder.”

“No hat?”

“No hat. It’ll be dark, anyway. You won’t have to keep the sun off your head, and that’s what hats are for, right?”

Why did she say ‘right’? Is she not sure?

“You’re kind of on edge, Heather. Is it a full moon thing? Should I be worried?”

“No. It’s just… Heather asked you out on a date!”

Well, she didn’t really ask, more demanded, but whatever. “So? She goes on loads of dates. Nothing new.”

“Well, yeah, but _she_ doesn’t ask anyone. They all ask her. _Everyone wants me, Heather_ ,” McNamara does a passable imitation of Chandler’s sneering tone, “ _but I don’t want_ them. That means she must like you.”

It’s kind of weird to hear it from someone else. Given their relationship is hidden behind closet doors, when _being a werewolf_ is less of a potential blow to your Westerburg status than being gay, the validation is scary and soothing at the same time.

Veronica supposes it’s nice to know Chandler’s serious about it. She wouldn’t take the risk with just anyone, right?

Right.

“You know what?” she says, “I’m thinking the ruffle skirt.”

 

\--

 

_Betty,_

_Thanks again for the help! I’m enclosing this guide with the care pack just so you know the deal. Flash and Duchess are usually well-behaved, but it’s better to be safe than sorry._

_Flash is easy to take care of – just let her run around the backyard for a while to work off some energy, then she’ll calm right down. I’ve put her favorite toy in the pack. If she gets anxious, give it to her. It’ll help her feel safe._

_Duchess is totally happy to follow you around, so long as you’re doing something she thinks is interesting. On that thought, make sure you close the doors to any room you don’t want her entering, she has a habit of going wherever she wants. She loves watching TV with me, so maybe put something on and see if she likes it. I’d suggest not inviting anyone over, since she tends to get upset with people she deems dangerous. You know that._

_They’ve had an early dinner, so don’t worry about feeding them. I’ll pick them up around 10._

_\- V_

Betty returns the paper and the cash to the envelope, gaze drifting down to her charges. Flash watches her expectantly, while Duchess seems to be having a sulk. Maybe she’s mad Veronica left her here (Betty feels a twinge of disappointment at the thought).

Betty leans down. “Hey, sweetheart-” Duchess’ head snaps towards her- “It’s not all bad. I’m not as boring as everyone thinks. We can still have some fun, even if Veronica isn’t here.”

It’s kind of silly, talking to something that doesn’t understand logic, let alone human speech. Still, Betty knows Duchess is smart, and the big black dog gives Betty a look (almost like begrudging acceptance) before she snorts and wanders inside.

Betty needs to cheer her up. That’ll be her mission for tonight, she decides.

 

-

 

Veronica barely gets one foot inside Heather’s house before Chandler almost bowls her over. Heather at least has the decency to look regretful for a fraction of a second before she trots off to the kitchen.

“Hello to you too,” Veronica mutters before following.

In all honesty, she’s more than a little curious as to what Heather has planned. On any other day, Veronica would expect a trip to the movies or dinner at a fancy restaurant, but Veronica can’t get away with claiming Heather’s her seeing-eye dog (not that she hasn’t been tempted to try). It limits the usual options, but when Chandler’s faced with a roadblock, she’ll find another way to get what she wants.

On the kitchen bench so bleach-white it almost hurts to look at, there’s a sheet of paper and a chocolate cupcake. The candle placed perfectly in the center hasn’t been lit. Probably wise, Veronica thinks to herself – the other two options are a cake covered in wax or a blazing inferno.

Heather’s watching her intently, shifting from paw to paw. At least Veronica has an idea of what she wants; she removes the candle and takes a bite.

Oh. It has cherries in it. Rich, like she’d expect from Heather, but she has to admit it’s pretty damn good. Veronica gives Heather a thumbs-up, and a little bit of tension disappears from Heather’s eyes. Veronica takes another bite as she casts her eyes down to the paper, and she almost chokes on chocolate and her own laughter.

Of course Heather Chandler, of all people, would itemize their date.

 

\--

 

Good news – Flash _adores_ Fetch.

She hesitates, at first, but once Betty nods towards the stick, she’s off like a shot and back for more. Again and again and again, she runs and runs and runs until she flops at Betty’s feet, exhausted and happier than anything.

The bad news is that Duchess is not a fan. It’s almost like she wants to, but when Betty presents her with the stick she glares at it with such disdain that the wood almost catches fire under the heat of her gaze.

“Look,” Betty tells her, “you helped me out with Richie, so I want to do right by you. Can you give me a hint?”

Duchess thinks for a moment, then wanders back inside. Betty gives Flash a quick once-over (yep, still alive) before she goes to make sure Duchess won’t break anything.

She doesn’t. Honestly, Betty’s a little mad at herself for assuming her weirdly intelligent hero would wreck her house. Duchess doesn’t, of course – she’s trying her darndest to open the cupboard below the TV with her mouth. Oh, right. Veronica said something about movies in her letter, didn’t she?

Betty opens the door for Duchess and spreads out the cases.

“Which one?”

Duchess surveys them all with a derisive eye, before she places her paw on one case with the finality of a judge’s gavel.

Betty stares down at Duchess’ choice. “Really? That’s kind of a scary one.”

Duchess raises an eyebrow. How on earth…? Can dogs do that?

“…I did say it was your decision, didn’t I?” Betty says doubtfully. “Okay, we’ll watch it.”

She shouldn’t really believe Duchess know what she’s choosing, but if she wants to watch _An American Werewolf in London_ …

 

-

 

It’s kind of a ride, going to a drive-through a few towns over, finding a park to have dinner (Chandler refuses to let Veronica eat in her Porsche), and then their last stop: The middle of nowhere.

At least Veronica knows where this place is. It’s the field, from the first night she acted as a wolf chauffeur. She might be imagining things, but it seems nicer than she remembers it. Lush, almost tranquil.

And the stars…

Sure, streetlamps are great and all, but you miss out on so much in the light. Out here, you see nothing, but everything.

Chandler is acting as her seeing-eye wolf, now that the car headlights are off (yeah, the moon’s out, but it’s still a little murky through Veronica’s inferior human eyes). Veronica has her hand on her back as Heather leads her to…

A seat? Since when has there been a seat out here? Did Heather do some guerilla landscaping?

Eh, whatever. There’s the clack of claw-on-wood as Heather climbs up on the bench, and Veronica eases down next to her.

“I thought you’d pick a place with more people for the grand finale. I mean, ideally my birthday’d be a different day, but even then, you could’ve done something this afternoon. Coming out here and stargazing, it’s too romantic for you.”

Chandler nips her ear, a gentle reprimand.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… you usually aren’t so sentimental.” A pause. “Thanks, by the way. It’s been a good birthday. More exciting than listening to my parents sing, not as overwhelming as a house party. You’re getting better at this balance thing.”

It’s weird, seeing a wolf looking smug. She seen it many times before, of course, the Heathers are prone to being smug. There’s something abut the way Heather puffs up that makes Veronica smile.

“Am I allowed to talk about the stars?” she asks. Heather licks the back of her hand, and she takes that as a ‘yes’. “Okay, so those really big one down there? That’s Sirius. The Dog Star.”

Chandler groans.

 

\--

 

Flash isn’t watching the movie. She’s curled up on Betty’s bed with her yellow teddy, the rotting corpse of Jack chatting away like he isn’t horrific to behold proving too much for the sensitive soul.

Duchess isn’t even watching, really. Betty isn’t sure she should be on the couch with her, but that’s where she is, trying her best not to fall asleep.

“ _Mr. Bringsley… I’m sorry. I have absolutely no idea what to say to you._ ”

“ _You’ve left my wife a widow and my children fatherless. And, I understand, I am to walk the earth in limbo – one of the living dead – until the wolf’s bloodline is severed and the curse lifted. You must die, David Kessler_.”

Betty’s surprised a dog could be so morbid in her movie choice.

Wait.

Is this a hint? Duchess is huge for a dog, almost human-size if she stood on her hind legs. Does this mean she killed people? What if Richie got lucky? Are her maybe-victims trapped in an unliving hell?

Duchess nuzzles closer to Betty’s shoulder, and soon all Betty can focus on is the sound of her soft snoring.

…No. Betty’s being silly again. Besides, Duchess sleeps too soundly for a killer.

She feels her own eyes begin to drift closed, as well, and decides not to fight it. She’s only barely aware of the conversations on the television, and it’s probably for the best. She needs some rest.

It’s almost eleven, after all.

 

-

 

There was one last thing Heather wanted to do – go back to her place. To her bedroom.

Obviously, nothing was gonna happen tonight. Heather just directed Veronica to her vanity, a fancy blue box presented like a work of art. Makes sense that Chandler would buy her something hideously expensive. That’s how her family shows affection, after all.

Veronica cautiously opens the box, and can’t help but let out a soft gasp.

It’s beautiful. Threads of sterling silver twisting around a deep blue sapphire, surrounded by shimmering diamonds. It’s delicate, but still bold. Perfect, and probably worth more than the house she lives in.

All she can say to Heather’s intent stare is “Oh my God”. Chandler shifts on her paws.

“No, no, it’s good, it’s good! It’s _amazing_! Thank you again. You’re- _You’ve_ been so good.”

This is the right thing to say, apparently, because Heather honest-to-god wags her tail.

Veronica’s made it. Everybody go home, nothing more to see, she made Chandler drop her guard. She's reached the peak.

“And you picked this by yourself?” Heather bows her head in an attempt to nod. “I’m surprised you didn’t buy a matching one. Maybe that’s what I can get you for _your_ birthday. Like a collar, or something.”

Yeah, that didn’t come out like it should have. She meant something that can make Heather feel pretty regardless of how many legs she has, but even Veronica can see where she went wrong with that one. Heather probably can too, if the blood rushing to Veronica’s face is any sign.

“I mean – well, I _didn’t_ mean, actually – I’m not suggesting anything you don’t wanna do, uh-”

Heather puts a paw on Veronica’s foot. Veronica isn’t sure what that means, but Chandler rolls her eyes and hops up onto the bed, looking at her as if beckoning.

Okay. So she forgives her for that faux-pas (not that she knows any other werewolves to clarify if it is). Veronica will take what she can get. She strips off her outer layers and climbs into bed next to Heather, pulling the blanket over them both.

Is she forgetting something?

 

\--

 

It’s a beautiful morning. Betty doesn’t even need to open her eyes to know that. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, she’s safe and warm under a blanket and the sizzle and smell of a cooked breakfast wafts under her nostrils.

She moves under the blanket, straining to get up, but a weight and a groan stops that before it really gets started. Oh, right, she was dogsitting for Veronica. She gives Duchess a scratch on top of her head, and smiles to herself when Duchess leans into the touch.

…Hold on.

She didn’t have a blanket when she went to sleep. Someone’s in her kitchen.

There should be no-one else in the house.

She whips the blanket off, and there's a decidedly human-sounding shriek from her couch-mate.

“Pancakes!” How did Heather McNamara – _ohhhhh nooooo_ , “No one's allowed to be upset when there’s pancakes!”


	3. Party Night

Ugh.

Veronica hides with her head under the covers, unwilling and unable to face the world. She doesn’t have the words to describe how she’s feeling – maybe ‘cold’ or ‘weak’ would do, but it all sort of boils down to a generalized sort of… ‘ugh’.

The only useful thing she’s managed to do today (and calling it ‘useful’ is a stretch) is that she’s managed to turn off her blaring alarm and get some peace for a few minutes.

Shame she can’t do anything about the car horn, currently being used to its fullest extent outside her window.

“Goddammit, Heather,” Veronica groans into her pillow. Her parents should be well and truly up by now – why aren’t they putting their foot down? Why aren’t they going outside and doing something, anything, to let them know they heard her? Of course, the last time either of them demonstrated any sort of courage was when the paperboy broke the window in the front room, and that was five years ago.  

Mercifully, the aria of impatience ceases when Chandler gets tired of laying on the horn. Veronica hears a car door slam, the clicking of heels on asphalt, then concrete. A muted “Veronica!” sounds from outside. It’s a lot nicer than the alternative.

Veronica shuffles over to her bedroom window, still wrapped in the five blankets forming her cocoon, and opens it just a crack.

“Keep going, Heather. I’m staying home.”

Heather doesn’t skip a beat. “Window open. Get out of the way.”

Veronica obeys. One perfectly polished shoe comes flying through the window, the other knocks over Veronica’s desk lamp. After a bit of scraping and scrabbling, Chandler climbs through to examine her girlfriend.

“You look like shit.”

Ah, yes. Heather Chandler, well-known for her bedside manner.

“Aren’t you just the fucking romantic?” Veronica grumbles.

“That’s a compliment.” Is it? “You’re still beautiful. You at your lowest is still miles ahead of everyone else’s. Now…”

An arm on her shoulder, one behind her knees. Veronica squeaks as she’s lifted up off the ground and deposited back in her bed.

“You stay there,” Chandler commands, “I’ll make you soup. Don’t. Move.”

That last part is fine with Veronica – staying upright was overrated, anyway. Provided adjusting the blankets doesn’t count as moving (Christ, she’s _freezing_ ), she’s completely content in following Heather’s orders this time.

She snuggles back down into her bed, dozing off again, until she smells the scent of chicken soup placed on her bedside table, and feels a warm weight on her legs.

Okay. The soup, she expected. Not the other part.

With almost all of her remaining energy, Veronica sits up just enough to see what that is. It’s Heather, of course (Veronica should stop being surprised about this), lying down on the end of the bed, keeping Veronica’s calves pinned down.

“What are you doing?”

Heather doesn’t look over. “I’m helping.”

“How?”

“Keeping you in bed.”

There were many ways that could be a problem. Veronica focuses on just the one, though. “You need to get to school.”

“No. You’re sick.”

“Your education is more important.”

“Bullshit. You’re a better use of my time, and you know that.”

Veronica sighs. “That’s sweet, Heather, but I promise you I’m not dying. You can come back after school, and I’ll still be here.”

Chandler groans, but at least she bothers to think about it for a moment. Maybe she’s considering Duke and McNamara – while they certainly won’t be lost without her, Heather always thinks they will be.

“If you _do_ die,” she says, looking pointedly at Veronica, “I’ll be hunting your ghost down for eternity. Got it?”

“Aye-aye, captain.”

Two hands on her shoulders, and Veronica lets herself fall back onto the pillow. Heather presses a kiss against her jaw. Veronica lets her eyes flutter close again.

“Good girl,” she mumbles.

She hears Heather pause at the window, trying to hold in a squeal. “… Just eat your soup before it gets cold.”

 

-

 

“You sure about this?”

This might be the first time ever that Heather _hasn’t_ wanted Veronica at a party. They’re in Heather’s car, doing some last-minute checks on their makeup, when Heather turns off the lights and asks the question.

“I promise you, Heather,” Veronica just manage, “I’m fine. It looks like it was just… food poisoning, or something.”

At the very least, that’s what she thinks it is. She and her parents were sick as a… well, sick as a _dog_ for three days, then up and about like nothing was ever wrong. As much as Heather worries, Veronica _is_ telling the truth about this.

Besides, she likes parties. Once you got past the social status benchmark to be invited in the first place, they’re great. People laugh _with_ each other, not _at_ each other, and there’s always something wild to talk about in the days to follow. Just avoid the members of the football team who were _complete_ jackasses, and you were golden.

Heather searches Veronica’s face for a sign of dishonesty that isn’t there. “You really sure?”

“Positive.”

Heather frowns, considering, then she leans in.

It’s a slow, languid kiss, Heather’s red velvet lips soft, undemanding. Veronica isn’t sure why this is happening, but she’s eager to reciprocate. While it seems like it could go on forever, Heather pulls back and the moment ends.

“If I get sick in the next few days,” she warns, “I’ll know you’re lying.”

“Maybe you should try again. You know, to make sure I’m telling the truth.”

Heather hums. “Tempting, but we’re already late. We need to get in there while we can still be fashionable about it.”

Unsurprisingly, the place is packed when Veronica and Heather walk in. Whose house is this again? Might be Dan’s, Veronica vaguely remembers, that kid with his column in the school newspaper. Bit of a cynical weirdo, but a good enough host.

She watches the sea of faces turn towards them, and it’s like a switch is flicked – the chatter, previously murmurs that came in waves, rises into a surge of sound as every single person’s decision to come is validated by Heather Chandler’s presence.

Veronica still doesn’t understand why Chandler has so much power, but god _damn_ does it feel good to be caught in that aura of awe.

Let’s see, who’s here tonight… ugh, Kurt Kelly is, and from the blush on his face he's probably drunk already. Dennis, surprising. Some hipster dork, a dude in a trenchcoat, Country Club Kids, yeah, that made sense, but Veronica couldn’t trust herself to have a conversation with them without sarcasm …

Betty?

“So she accepted my bribe,” Heather mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Veronica guesses that McNamara pounced on the chance to do a makeover once again – at the very least, she’s sure Betty wouldn’t have bought that silver dress. The makeup’s subtle, a bit of blush and a touch of eyeshadow, and the glasses were gone. Hopefully she has contacts, Veronica thinks to herself, Betty’s kinda short-sighted. Maybe that’s why Duke is with her. Being her guide dog that can also hold a conversation.

Just as that thought is about to go further, Veronica almost gets tackled to the floor by flying display of affection.

“You came!” McNamara exclaims as she releases her hold around Veronica’s waist. “You’re alive, and you’re here, and you came!”

“Yes, yes, and yes.  So is Betty, if my eyes don’t deceive me. Your handiwork?”

McNamara grins, an affirmation. “She’s having a lot of fun! She even had Heather’s drinks for her, what with Heather driving and all. It’s a two-drink minimum, Betty said, but that doesn’t mean Heather has to have them herself.”

“And Heather _let_ her?” Chandler splutters, incredulous.

“Uh-huh. Besides, it’s Betty first popular kid party. She should celebrate!”

Oh, Christ. Betty’s going all out for this – Veronica’s ninety-nine percent sure her old friend hasn’t even touched alcohol before tonight, then four shots all at once? Good little Betty Finn?

She glances over to Betty’s corner again. She doesn’t look drunk at all. Maybe her tolerance is higher than expected.

“Hm. Maybe I should have your drinks for you, too,” Veronica smirks.

“You know I need at least one to get through this shit,” Chandler shoots back. “Besides, you shouldn’t be having that much. It’ll… slow down your recovery, or something.”

“Whatever, _Mom_. I won’t drink too much if you don’t. Deal?”

Chandler sighs. “Deal, I guess. Go. Be free. I have to socialize - go spare yourself the agony.”

Veronica’s totally fine with that.

She has a thirst she needs to sate.

 

–

 

“So, since none of us were stupid enough to drink water out of a pawprint, there had to be another reason. Then I think back – that goth kid was making some pretty vague threats a few weeks ago, mumbling something when we walked past. Maybe that was more than just posturing to the other witch wannabes.”

Betty listens with a polite smile. Before tonight, she hadn’t even considered what type of drunk she was. Well, maybe ‘drunk’ isn’t the right word – she thinks she’s mildly tipsy, nothing more, but ‘Zen Drunk’ had a nice ring to it. She finds she does not care when she really, really should. Anyone could overhear this conversation, and yet Betty cannot bring herself to worry about anyone out of the loop catching on.

Besides, she likes seeing Duke this comfortable. Whenever Betty sees her at school, she always looks as nervous as Betty feels. Now she’s in her element, eyes bright as she goes on about something she’s confident about, and neither of them could be any happier.

Of course, that’s when they get interrupted.

Heather Chandler stands over the two of them, the dim lighting making the glare more intimidating than it has to be.

“I need to speak with you,” she says to Betty, “the _designated driver_ can stay here.”

Duke opens her mouth, about to speak, but Betty cuts her off. “Sure. Where to?”

“Follow me.”

They clamber up the stairs, and Betty has a little time to think. She was sure she saw Veronica earlier. Good to know she was getting over her illness, but Betty can’t help but feel a twinge of hurt that she didn’t come over to chat. Later, she supposes. She’ll track Veronica down before the party’s end.

Chandler leads her to an alcove on the second floor landing. Again, Betty should be at least slightly concerned that this werewolf (and yes, Duke told her it’s Chandler as well) has her almost up against a wall. Cornered by a predator, not a single care given.

“What do you know about Veronica?”

Betty blinks. “A lot of things, as it happens. Why?”

“I think she’s hiding something from me. It might be a politeness thing, but there’s been something wrong with her lately, and I need to find out what it is.”

Now, Betty’s nowhere near an expert on how popular people conduct things, but this feels like a breach of privacy. Veronica seems to like Chandler, but Betty’s not so sure if it’s really reciprocated. What if Chandler’s trying to get dirt on her for some nefarious purpose? Not that she wouldn’t mind seeing Veronica more, but not at the cost of Veronica’s social life.

“You’ve apparently known her since before either of you could walk,” Chandler goes on, “and like hell I’m gonna ask her parents, I don’t wanna look at her baby pictures or anything…”

Someone, too tall and broad-shouldered to be the topic of conversation, appears at the top of the stairs.

“Heather, there’s -”

“I’m _talking_. How many drinks did Heather give you for you to forget the one thing you have going for you-”

Too late. Kurt Kelly, Quarterback, wraps his arms around Chandler’s waist. Chandler goes still – not tense, not like she’s afraid (Betty’s pretty sure Heather Chandler knows no fear) - almost like she’s waiting.

“Red,” he begins, full of confidence he shouldn’t have, “red is the color of… _passion_. ‘S the color of fire, an’… an’ heat, an’ other things that are hot. Red is the sex color, an’ _you_ , Heather Chandler, are all those things. Yeah.” Kurt looks down at her expectantly, a lopsided grin on his face. “You into it yet? Poems are s’posed to work.”

Chandler keeps staring straight ahead. “Betty, is there anyone else behind me right now?”

Betty checks over Kurt’s shoulder, then shakes her head.

Chandler nods in understanding, face blank. Then, she whips around, shoulders hunched over in decidedly unladylike fashion, and her voice is so low and guttural that Betty can barely make out the words.

“ ** _FUCK. OFF. DEADBEAT._** ”

Betty doesn’t know what Kurt sees, but from his expression it might have made his heart stop for a second. He forces a pathetic little scream from his mouth as he tears his arms away, before running as fast as his wobbly legs can carry him.

Chandler turns back to Betty, face as perfectly made-up as expected and with a similar air of nonchalance. “Anyway, I don’t want anything to come between us. Is there any huge life-changing secret that Veronica’s hiding from me?”

“I don’t think so,” Betty replies. “Even if I did know something, it’s a secret for a reason. If she thought it’d be a problem, she’d tell you herself.”

Chandler narrows her eyes, but manages not to tear Betty to shreds for that little slight. Then she sighs.

“I just want to do this right.”

Betty raises her eyebrows. “I’m sorry?”

“Being… I won’t say _nice_. Open with people,” Chandler mutters, almost lost over the voices coming from downstairs, “and since _I’m_ not, Veronica isn’t, I think. I want her to be okay.”

“And you don’t think she is.”

Chandler nods.

Al-righty then.

There are a lot of directions this conversation could go. There’s also the problem of missing context – is this a friend thing, or something else? From this admission, it’s clear Chandler likes Veronica, but does she _like_ -like her?

“I can’t answer those questions for you,” Betty admits, “and if Veronica isn’t telling you, it’s probably personal. She’s kind of private, I’m sure you’ve noticed. Maybe let her know how it makes you feel if it’s causing you that much pain.”

Chandler considers this for a moment, then nods again. “Thank you.”

Betty is uncertain how to feel about getting gratitude from this particular person. Luckily, she doesn’t have to respond – Duke and McNamara are coming up the stairs, walking slowly, carefully. Duke catches Betty’s eye, and Betty can see the relief wash over her.

“Hello Heather, Heather,” Betty begins, and there’s a sharp inhale as all three Heathers are caught in the act, “as you can see, I’m still in one piece. Thanks for checking up on me.”

“Why does everyone think I murdered someone?” Chandler complains.

“Are you okay?” McNamara asks, “Kurt said your face was all freaky.”

“I am physically perfect at all times, Heather, you know that. We need to find Veronica. We need to talk.”

A gasp. “Are you breaking up? No, wait, are you getting married?!”

“No, of course not. We’re gonna have a heart-to-heart.”

“Emotional vulnerability? You? So you _are_ getting married,” Duke quips.          

“Shut **_up!_** ” Duke cowers at the sound of Chandler’s snarl, but she’s still got that grin on her face. “We move. Now.”

 

-

 

Veronica honestly thought she was better. Now she’s not so sure – not that Chandler cares about that distinction. Maybe it’s the heat in the air, the sting of alcohol and the oppressive B.O. whenever some dudebro with no concept of personal hygiene wanders too close. It’s weird, not worrying that Chandler will be mad. Veronica’s more worried she’ll be _disappointed_ – Veronica can't comprehend why Heather doesn’t use that tactic more often, it’s _way_ more devastating than any scream of rage.

The bathroom’s a welcome break, though. Veronica splashes some water on her face, careful to avoid her eyes, and takes a long hard look at herself in the mirror above the sink. She supposes she’s a little pale. Just a little. Hard to tell with the makeup and all. It’s more how she _feels_ , really, sort of… empty…

Her eyes flick to the closed door, just for a moment.

Well. That’s only half-right. Her _reflection’s_ eyes flick to the door, Veronica herself just stared in horror.

Mirror Veronica uses her head to gesture towards the door again, raising her eyebrows in a silent request for Real Veronica to turn around.

… You know what? Fine. This might as well happen. She better let Heather know that someone slipped something into her drink, or one of them, anyway. She gives a thumbs-up to her reflection, if it can really be called that anymore, and it gives a smile in acknowledgement.

It’s only then she notices the faint knocking at the door. With slightly shaking hands, she turns the knob and opens the door a crack.

Round, colored shades and a military jacket. Oh, yeah. Tracey, the, uh, _young entrepreneur_. Not a person usually seen among the popular kids, but nonetheless provides a service that gets her a place at the table. At least it’s not Heather.

Veronica opens the door all the way. “Sorry, I was just on my way out. Go on in.”

“Um, actually, could you help me for a sec? I don’t have both hands available, but I need to put a bandage on.”

“Sure thing,” Veronica says without thinking, “did Dan tell you where they were?”

“The cloth ones? Yeah.”

Tracey holds out her hand.

Oh.

Oh shit.

 

–

 

Honestly, Betty expected werewolves to be better at hunting.

It might be because they’re human-shaped, at the moment, sauntering down the corridor like Betty’s seen them do so many times before. Certainly not acting like there’s any urgency, can’t let people know they care about things. Shame the ruse is ruined by Chandler's head snapping left and right at the slightest sound, or Duke walking so close to Betty that they're almost touching, or McNamara...

Stopping in front over a half-open door, eyes wide.

“I don’t think it’s anything,” she says, like a liar. “Do you smell that?”

All three of her followers sniff the air. Chandler’s brow furrows further, but Duke shakes her head.

“Nothing,” she says, “then again, not the full moon.”

“That’d be a whole other set of problems,” Chandler grumbles.

“It’s… well…”

With a little push, the door creaks open. In the bathtub, with Veronica’s jacket over her like a blanket, lies Tracey, grey and lifeless.

"It smells like blood," McNamara finishes.

There’s a moment of tense, fearful silence.

“Welp, Tracey’s dead,” Chandler says, suddenly and strangely professional, “Heather, help me hide the body.”

Duke stares, alarmed. The way Heather Chandler says it, a casual tone marred by the quick, snappy way the words come out is jarring.

“This. This is why people think you murdered someone,” Betty deadpans.

Chandler ignores her. “Well? The longer we wait, the more likely someone else finds out. Move.”

McNamara steps up to the plate. Slowly. Eventually.

When Tracey’s body is about six inches off the floor, she groans. McNamara drops her, startled, and suddenly Tracey’s definitely awake and… well? No, Betty decides, that’s a reach – but she’s alive, if somewhat pale.

“Now a lotta things hurt,” she whines.

“Heather, get her a towel,” Chandler commands, “if Tracey leaves the room like this, people are gonna think she’s done something awful.”

Betty isn’t sure who Chandler is referring to with that last bit.

“What happened?” she asks.

Tracey screws up her face, wiping off the semi-dried blood on her arms as she struggles to remember. There's a well-wrapped linen bandage on her hand, going all the way down her wrist.

“I remember _this_ part. I was talking to Rachel about this party I went to, where one dude jumped from the balcony into the pool, and when I said it, I did-” she mimes slamming down, hitting her injured palm down onto the edge of the tub, and just manages to stop herself from screaming in pain. “There was a shot glass there. It broke when I slammed my hand onto the table.”

“Why do you have to be so _violent_ when you tell stories?” Duke queries.

“I just get really into them, okay?! Anyway, Dan said there were bandages in the upstairs bathroom, so I went up, and Veronica was in there.”

“And she helped you.” Chandler doesn’t phrase it like a question. To be fair, it’s probably a given.

“No, she was acting all freaky. When she saw my hand, her eyes just…” Tracey places two fists on either side of her face, then spreads her fingers wide with a little ‘pchoo’ noise.

“ _Her eyes exploded?!_ ”

“No! The black part, they got all wide all of a sudden. Then… I dunno. Can’t remember." Tracey holds up her wrist. "I definitely didn't have _this_ on, that's for sure."

That’s the second least encouraging thing that could possibly be said. The first would be that Veronica did something terrible to Tracey, and that she _did_ remember. Ignorance is bliss, at least in this case.

“Okay,” Chandler responds after a moment, “leave, then.”

“…This room?”

“No, the state. Yes, I mean this room. Go. Git.”

Tracey looks pleadingly at Betty, hoping for someone to explain… pretty much everything at this point. But Betty doesn’t know where this is going, either, so she shrugs, and Tracey stumbles out without another word.

Silence, again.

Betty examines the three Heathers. Duke looks like she’s trying to figure something out, McNamara clearly hasn’t had any idea what’s going on since they got into the bathroom, and Betty’s never seen Chandler look so devastated.

“So,” Duke says slowly, “vampire.”

“Vampire,” Betty echoes. Werewolves existed, she knew that. It’d be narrow-minded to presume there weren’t other supernatural creatures as well.

…How did she come to that conclusion so quickly? ‘Oh, well, my best friend’s a vampire now, I guess’ shouldn’t be Betty’s first thought on the matter, and certainly not the last.

“How?” she adds, weakly.

“Well, that depends. Has she rejected the Orthodox faith lately? Apparently that’s a trigger.”

Chandler breaks out of her funk long enough to snap, “Ninety percent of world would be vampires if _that_ were right, Heather. Pick a reason that _isn’t_ mind-numbingly dumb.”

“Let me think…” Duke pauses, the counts out the reasons on her hand. “Practiced sorcery, born out of wedlock, pretty much anything jumping over her open grave, eating the meat of a sheep killed by a wolf, or being a natural redhead. Any of those work for you?”

Chandler touches her hair for a moment, then shakes her head. “No. Doesn’t change my plan, really. I still have to find her, to get answers. Heather?”

McNamara perks up.  Chandler grabs the jacket, throws it a lot more gently than the last time Betty saw her do so.

“Track her.”

“What?”

Chandler sighs. “Like those bloodhounds do in cop shows. You’ve got the best nose, and time is short.”

McNamara stares.

“Sniff it, then see if you can follow the smell,” Duke explains.

“I know that part. It's just weird. Sniffing people’s clothes. It feels wrong.”

“It’s fine if you do it for a good cause,” Betty reasons, “this is a good cause, isn’t it?”

McNamara thinks for a moment, then nods. “This a good thing. I’m good, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you’re a very good girl. Now, off you go.”

Why are they looking at her like that?

 

-

 

Okay.

That happened. Or maybe it didn't, and this is a waking nightmare. Hell, it'd be a waking nightmare even if Veronica's just hallucinating it. Is this happening?

Oh, fuck her sideways. If it _is_ , what’s gonna happen to her relationship now? Don’t werewolves have this _thing_ going on with vampires? Are they gonna hate each other now because of instinctual speciesism?

Veronica groans. She has to hide, let everything calm down a little before she jumps that hurdle or sobers up, whichever one works. She knows Tracey was still alive when she left, but she’ll have to go back at some point to get her coat. Not now, though.

Veronica tests the handle on the first door she finds. Open. She presses her ear to the door. No noise from inside.

She opens the door. Some sort of guest bedroom, bereft of any signs of life (though someone has been in here before, the sheets are all messed up). Bonus, some sort of closet on the far side. Perfect.

Well, if she’s… like this, now, maybe she can hide a little better. She should be able to...

Veronica closes her eyes, concentrates for just a moment - _oh shit this is the wrong choice_ -

No, no it’s fine (it’s not, none of it is, but she needs to focus more than ever). If – if she just gets on the ceiling, _all_ of her on the ceiling…

How the hell does this _work_?

 

–

 

Apparently, the trail leaves to what looks like a guest bedroom – at least, if the complete lack of character is any indication. The only sign the place has been used at all are the bedsheets, all twisted, hanging off the edge of the mattress like a rope. Betty wonders which one of the former occupants was trying to escape.

McNamara does a quick sweep of the room, checking under the bed, behind the curtains, in the closet.

“Not here.”

“She _was_ in here, though. You smell her.”

McNamara nods. “She isn’t here _now_ , though. Now it’s just bats.”

Duke stiffens.

“Bats.” Chandler repeats.

“Yep. In the closet. Bats.”

“Plural?”

“That’s why she added the ‘s’ at the end, yeah,” Duke mutters. Chandler opens her mouth, but slowly closes it again, waiting.

McNamara opens the closet door again, and points.

…Yeah, those are bats. Hundreds of the little guys, hanging off the walls, on the ceiling, chilling on the empty clothes hangers. A thousand beady black eyes watch them intently, fearfully.

“I mean, it makes sense,” Duke murmurs beside her, “conservation of mass, and all. It’s either this, or one _huge_ bat, and that’d be worse.”

McNamara considers it for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, that’d be scary. These are cute.” She pauses. “Wait, what?”

“It’s Veronica,” Chandler says, voice hollow. Betty almost feels bad for her.

“…No, don’t like it. Too many eyes. How do we put her back together?”

“How do we get her out without anyone noticing?” Duke adds.

Both good questions. Even the heavily inebriated knew a colony of chiropterans don’t belong in some dude’s guest room. Maybe - they’re small enough that a few could go in a handbag, maybe if they take a few trips they could get her to the car… but what happens if Veronica wants to go back to normal, and half of her is outside and the other half’s in here?

Ever so slowly, Chandler reaches out and gingerly pries one of the bats off the closet wall and holds it in her palm. It gives a timid squeak, barely audible.

Chandler stares.

Then, with one careful finger, she gently pats it on the head.

Betty lets out a soft ‘oh!’ at the same time the bat squeaks in surprise.

“You’re still cute. Just in a different way,” Chandler murmurs to it, then looks up, eyes sharp. “The pillowcases. Take them off, we’ll use those.”

So many questions answered in so little time. Veronica has terrible taste in women.

Betty jumps into action – for Veronica’s sake.

 

-

 

Veronica comes to consciousness tucked up in a bed. Two eyes. Hands. Legs.

Something’s _on_ her legs. That’s fine. That means they’re there.

“Heather?”

Chandler’s voice is soft, and sounds like it’s from her usual position. “Yeah?”

“Am I in your house, or Dan’s?”

“Mine. That’s what we agreed to. Heather and Heather took Betty home. They’re safe.”

Okay. That’s good. It’s all okay. Heather’s here, and everyone’s where they’re supposed to be.

“Heather, I think I drank too much last night.”

Heather makes a noise Veronica’s tired mind can’t describe. It sounds nervous.

“I think… I dunno, maybe someone slipped something into my glass. I imagined some weird shit. I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?”

“…No. We… we, uh, smuggled you out of there.”

Oh. Wow. Heather Chandler, stumbling over her words. Has that ever happened before?

Veronica swings herself up, opening her eyes and regretting it when the sunlight stings her face. Heather is watching her, fidgeting with the hem of her robe.

“Veronica, I know a lot of things happened last night. Some life… life? Yeah, _life_ -changing stuff got shoved your way. I just want you to know I still love you, and I’ll be here no matter what you are.” She goes to take both of Veronica’s hands, but decides against it after getting a glance at the left one. “No, that-that’s fine. This is fine, you’re fine.”

Veronica follows the gaze down, to the limb that Chandler’s lying about. Well, where the hand _should_ be, anyway. Like, some of it’s there, but two of her fingers and part of her palm are just… not. There’s just a little bit of black fog keeping Veronica from seeing the inside of her hand.

Huh. So it wasn’t a bad trip. That’s a shame.

…

……

………

WHAT IN THE FLIPPITY FLAPPITY _FUCK_ IS GOING ON WHY CAN SHE TURN INTO _MULTIPLE_ ANIMALS DOES TEN PERCENT OF HER HAVE RABIES NOW IS SHE DEAD OR UNDEAD OR WHATEVER WHAT’S GONNA HAPPEN TO HER AND –

Heather grabs something off the end of the bed, shakes it. Something small and dark falls out, and she grabs it and shoves it onto Veronica’s hand. The missing digits return to their rightful place.

“I missed one,” she pants, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it’s just they’re very small, I thought it was a crease in the pillowcase-”

Veronica cuts her off with a wordless, questioning scream.

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel that. Few questions – you can nod or shake your head if you can’t talk. Okay?”

Veronica needs a second to rein in her panic, but manages to nod.

“Okay. Thank you.” Heather clears her throat. “Are you a natural redhead?”

What? Heather _knows_ that isn’t true, though it makes Veronica forget about her existential crisis for a moment. She shakes her head.

“And you haven’t been in a grave… were your parents married when they had you?”

Veronica nods.

“Do you feel particularly strongly about the Orthodox church?”

Shakes her head.

“Are you a sorcerer?”

“Where are you going with this, Heather?”

“We’re doing some diagnosing,” Heather explains. “...Are you, though?”

“No.”

“Okay, I think this is that last one. have you eaten sheep recently?”

Veronica thinks for a moment. “We did have some lamb pâté about a week ago. It’s usually made of beef or chicken, and Mom wanted something different, but not _too_ different. I think that’s what gave us…”

Food poisoning.

Or, if Veronica's right about where Heather is going with this, maybe it wasn't.

Heather sets her jaw.

“The pâté,” she growls. The way that sentence is said almost demands “my mortal enemy” be tacked onto the end.

Veronica shrugs. “It’s bullshit, but it makes the most sense of the options you gave me.”

“You should sue.”

“What? For vampirism? Don’t think that’ll hold up in a court of law.”

Chandler scowls, but submits to Veronica’s superior logic. Then, her face goes blank.

“Veronica?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you hate me?”

This has been a rollercoaster of a morning. It goes from calm, to panic, to jokes (or Chandler's closest approximation of a joke), to this – and Heather has looked so very worried this whole time. It’s not a face she should wear, in Veronica’s opinion.

“Of course not,” she coos, reaching out to take Heather’s hand (Heather lets it happen). “I still feel the same way about you, I promise. Do you hate _me_?”

“No!”

“Then it’s all okay. Well… no. Everything’s okay between _us_. I still have a lot to figure out about everything else.”

“I’ll help with that.”

Veronica smiles. “Thanks, Heather. For everything.”

“Expect nothing less than perfection from me. C’mere, Countess Chocula.”

Veronica lets herself be pulled forward into Heather’s arms, relaxing into the touch. The nickname would definitely need to go sooner rather than later, but they’re gonna take this whole thing slow.

One night at a time, and they’ll figure it out.


End file.
